


Dare To Be Bold

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach House, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "He is the master of the ocean!" she yells through cupped hands. "Poseidon quivers before him!""Fuck off!" Bellamy yells back, a split second before he's side-slammed by another exuberant wave.Or, the one where Clarke dares Bellamy to go skinny-dipping.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kacka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/gifts).



> PROMPT FROM [Kacka](http://katchyalater.tumblr.com):  
>  **Bellamy and Clarke are Those Friends who are constantly daring each other to do idiotic stuff AND THEN DOING IT bc they are competitive af. one of them dares the other to go skinny dipping & either joins them or they cuddle to get warm after (or both!)**
> 
>  
> 
> right so this was supposed to be a 1k fill for my [tumblr celebration](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com/post/156462904119) bUT AS USUAL Kacka sent me off on a Spiral with one of her prompts and i just feel plain bad including it in my prompts collection bc Toto, I've a Feeling This Ain't No Drabble Anymore
> 
> enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'I Want You To Shake' by Francis and the Lights)

 

 

 

 

"Chicken."

 

"Fine. I am."

 

Clarke huffs exasperatedly, throwing a twig into the fire crackling before them. "You're supposed to hit me with a _comeback._ Like, I don't know — 'am not'. 'Takes one to know one'. Or, whatever — 'fuck you'."

 

"Well," Bellamy says idly as he stirs a small saucepan full of simmering hot chocolate, "I would definitely do that, sure... only I'm not _twelve years old._ "

 

She scoffs in disbelief. "Are you kidding me right now? Where the fuck was _this_ attitude a week ago? You know, when you were _peer pressuring_ me into knocking back four shots of _expired tequila?_ "

 

Unruffled, he moves to replace the saucepan on the hook set up above the fire. "I've matured since then."

 

"Since last _Friday?_ "

 

He shrugs. "Since the temperature dropped to sixty degrees."

 

"Incredible," she says, tone flat and eyes narrowed. She sighs, dropping the affronted facade to toss another twig into the fire. "Come _on,_ Bellamy. I _dared_ you. And I'm _bored._ "

 

"So wait for the others to get back and entertain you," he says, a little snootily, even.

 

"They're going to take _forever,_ " she laments, drawing a random pattern in the sand. "Jasper said Raven's train is delayed, so he's _still_ just waiting around at the station. The store on this side of town closes stupidly early, so Harper and Monty are gonna take _at least_ another forty-five minutes to get back with more snacks. Bryan and Miller are _clearly_ already back at the house making out while they pretend to look for more blankets, and I'm _bored._ "

 

"Clarke," Bellamy says calmly, "I am not going to take off all my clothes and dive into _fifty-degree seawater,_ just so you can be _amused_ for all of _two seconds._ "

 

Her nose wrinkles. "I thought you said it was sixty degrees."

 

He looks at her, unmoved. " _No._ "

 

 

* * *

 

 

And that's how they wind up at the shoreline, two minutes later.

 

Clarke's got a large towel draped over her arm as she grins gleefully at Bellamy, his bare legs exposed underneath his thick college hoodie.

 

"Sounds like fun!" she half yells, jabbing a thumb at the waves crashing restlessly onto the sand mere feet away.

 

"I hate you," he half shouts back, already peeling off his socks one by one.

 

She sniggers when he flings both socks in her direction, the wind blowing them severely off course. She bounds over to pick them up off the sand before an incoming wave can get at them. "All of it, Bellamy!" she singsongs as she skips back over to him, cheerfully waving a sock at him.

 

He grumbles something under his breath before reaching under the hem of his hoodie. Within a few seconds, his boxers are flying towards her face.

 

She gives in to another fit of laughter, stuffing his underwear under her arm for safekeeping. "And now," she calls, spreading her arms grandly, "for the _pièce de résistance!_ "

 

"That's not what ' _pièce de résistance'_ means," Bellamy informs her testily, but he's already unzipping his hoodie.

 

She forces another laugh to shake off the sudden surge of pointed interest at the unveiling of all that _skin_ , and _muscle_ , and—

 

She clears her throat sharply. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announces, deftly catching his hoodie with one hand, "I give you, the man, the myth — _Bellamy Blake!_ "

 

To her thoroughly delighted surprise, Bellamy squares his shoulders, lets out _an actual battle cry,_ and charges helter-skelter into the rollicking waves.

 

She's already deep in a bend with the sheer force of her laughter. With great effort, she pulls herself upright, wiping at the tears gathering in her eyes.

 

"He is the master of the ocean!" she yells through cupped hands. "Poseidon quivers before him!"

 

"Fuck off!" Bellamy yells back, a split second before he's side-slammed by another exuberant wave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they're back at the fire, Bellamy's lips are starting to turn slightly blue.

 

"I h-hate y-you," he tells her for the ninth time, accepting the small cup of hot chocolate she offers him with shaking hands.

 

She grins, rubbing large, comforting circles into his back as he brings the cup to his lips for a careful sip.

 

"Wow, Clarke," she says, pitching her voice as low as it can go in a mocking imitation of his deep baritone, "that was such a good idea for me to take off my underwear, too. Can't imagine having to sit here in soaking cold boxers right now. Thanks, princess!"

 

"You owe m-me your f-firstborn," Bellamy grumbles through chattering teeth. "I g-get to n-name him. I g-get to n-name him w-whatever I want. I g-get to n-name _his_ f-firstborn, t-too."

 

Her cheeks are already starting to ache with how _hard_ she's smiling. "Yes, Bellamy, and the firstborn after that. On and on, for seven generations, until my debt is paid."

 

He huffs a wry laugh, pulling his jacket tighter over him. "M-make that seven _teen_ g-generations."

 

On a subconscious level, Clarke is aware that she shouldn't be enjoying this _quite_ as much as she is.

 

"All right," she announces after a minute. "Into the sleeping bag. Let's go."

 

He blinks up at her over the rim of his half-finished chocolate. "It's, l-like, nine P.M."

 

She rolls her eyes at the sight of him visibly shivering as another breeze ripples by. "I'm not letting you freeze _to death_ for the sake of my amusement, Bellamy. Come on, let's get you warm first. And then I can go right back to laughing at you with a clear conscience."

 

He lets her pluck the cup out of his hands and tug him up by the arm. "S-since when d-do you care about a c-clear c- _conscience?_ " he grouches, but it's clearly meant to be teasing.

 

She shrugs, dropping to a crouch to unroll his navy sleeping bag.

 

"I do when it's someone I actually give a shit about. _Don't_ flatter yourself," she adds hastily, glancing at him as she unzips the bag, "I'd do this for Raven, too. Or Monty. Or literally anyone else here." She steps back, holding the flap open for him. "Even though they're all not, uh, _technically_ here right now."

 

To her relief, Bellamy doesn't hesitate, climbing obediently into the bag. "G-good to know," he says as she pulls the flap over him. His eyes flick over to the fire, longing written all over his face. "M-maybe I should m-move closer to—"

 

"Overheating is just as dangerous," she says with a shake of her head. "You have to warm up slow."

 

He sighs, the breath coming out all shaky thanks to his tremors. "Okay, d-doc."

 

She watches him shiver in the sleeping bag for about two more seconds.

 

"Okay," she decides abruptly, yanking at the zipper of her own jacket. "I'm coming in."

 

His eyes flutter open, brows furrowing as she rips off the garment. "W-what?"

 

"I said I'm coming in," she repeats, forcing herself to focus on removing the long-sleeved henley she's got on underneath. "Body heat, Blake."

 

 _God,_ she _really_ hopes her tank top isn't being pulled up along with it.

 

She has to stop herself from sighing in relief when she manages to pull the henley off, and _just_ the henley.

 

Bellamy raises a brow as he watches her unzip the sleeping bag. "Am— am I dying?"

 

She rolls her eyes. "Of _melodrama_? Yes," she says, reaching into the bag to help him out of his hoodie. By the time they've worked off the light sweater he's been wearing under that, her skin is starting to prickle with a warmth that definitely doesn't _feel_ like amusement anymore.

 

She shakes her head, peeling back the flap of the bag before she can lose her nerve. "Move," she orders briskly, clambering in beside him.

 

Between her tank top and his white cotton undershirt, they're still (mostly appropriately) separated. Even so, Bellamy sighs at the contact of her warm body against his still distinctly chilled skin.

 

"Fuck, that's good," he moans, writhing slightly as he struggles to find a position that allows both of them to lie comfortably and still fit in the average-sized sleeping bag.

 

For some reason, Clarke finds herself having to bite back on a peculiarly satisfied sigh of her own.

 

"Here," she says instead, keeping her tone low as she places her hand on his arm, turning him gently to face away from her. "This is better."

 

At the sensation of her body curling around his, her chest pressed to his cool back, Bellamy makes a deep groan — one that makes her stomach clench and her thighs press together where they're tucked against his.

 

" _God,_ Clarke," Bellamy mutters, leaning back into the cradle of her form.

 

She tries not to let her mind wander too far off. A fruitless endeavour, really, considering how partial she's always been to Bellamy's voice.

 

His hand finds her wrist where it's loosely draped on top of his waist. Another rush of heat flares through her when she feels his hand close around hers, pulling it higher to wrap properly and tightly around him.

 

"Shit," he sighs. "I should go skinny-dipping in forty-degree oceans more often."

 

She pinches lightly at his chest, grinning when he jerks back into her with a reflexive _'ow!'_

 

"Shut up," she says as she allows herself to be pulled in even tighter against him, letting her nose find the goosebumped junction of his neck and shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

And that's how she wakes up hours later, with the gentle light of early morning on her face.

 

With one tiny exception.

 

"Oh," she says, blinking hazily around her. "Good morning."

 

Raven and Monty are standing over her, twin smiles of smug satisfaction on their faces, one toothy, one soft.

 

"Morning," Raven says, far too perky for whatever time it is. One dark brow arches up gracefully. "Sleep well?"

 

Clarke blinks.

 

And then suddenly realises that her left arm is numb.

 

"Fuck," she says automatically, glancing down at where the limb is wedged underneath herself and a still-sleeping Bellamy. She squints back up at Raven and Monty, and then back down at her arm. "Er— one sec."

 

By the time she's out of the sleeping bag, Monty has already gathered up the other sleeping bags scattered about, still tightly packed in their unused forms.

 

"Where the fuck _were_ you guys?" Clarke asks bemusedly, zipping her jacket up over her thin tank top.

 

Monty smiles apologetically as Raven cackles beside him. "We all just kind of decided to sleep back at the house. Not all _together,_ though — we all thought we were the only ones."

 

"Jasper and I waited up for you guys," Raven supplies helpfully. "We stayed up till, like, one." She waggles her brows suggestively, her eyes flipping down to Bellamy. "Guess you guys were _busy._ "

 

"We were _waiting_ for all of you to come back," Clarke huffs, trying her best to sound annoyed instead of defensive. "Thanks for the heads-up, by the way."

 

Raven snorts, scooping up the portable speaker and the tiny folding camp chair it's been sitting on all night. "We're heading out for breakfast in half an hour, by the way." She turns towards the house, winking provocatively over her shoulder. "You're welcome to _not_ join us."

 

Clarke gives herself a full minute to glare after Raven and Monty's departing backs. When she's had her fill, she sighs, before crouching down to prod at Bellamy.

 

"Bellamy," she says, shaking his arm. " _Bellamy._ "

 

He jerks awake, though nowhere near as promptly as he usually does. "Wha—?"

 

"Breakfast time," she says, letting her hand linger on his arm for far longer than strictly necessary before retracting it. "Food, Bellamy."

 

He yawns, straining to push himself up onto his elbows. He stares around them, blinking groggily as he takes in the mostly cleared-out campsite. "What the hell happened to everyone?"

 

"They were busy," she deadpans, putting out a hand to help him up. "Accepting their Worst Friends of the Year awards."

 

He yawns again, raking his fingers through his salt-tousled curls. "Assholes," he says, sounding more incredulous than irritated.

 

She tries not to notice the way his shirt rides up with the movement, flashing a sliver of olive skin that should be _far_ less affecting than it is.

 

Especially considering the fact that she'd seen him flash a lot more than that mere _hours_ ago.

 

 

* * *

  

 

"For the last time, Raven. It wasn't _like_ that."

 

Raven scoffs disbelievingly. "Oh, yeah, sure. You were just _platonically_ cuddling in the same sleeping bag. Just a couple of bros, spooning up a storm on the beach. No big deal."

 

She pauses, lips pursed. "Although, now that I think about it, Bellamy Blake as the little spoon kind of makes a ton of sense."

 

Clarke exhales, wringing out her hair as best as she can with a towel. "He was _cold._ I _told_ you, we went _skinny-dipping._ He," she quickly amends at the look Raven shoots her, " _he_ went skinny-dipping. I was just— I mean, I _dared_ him to— _he_ went skinny-dipping."

 

Raven stares at her. "I think that's the most number of times I've heard anyone say 'skinny-dipping', like, ever."

 

Clarke groans in frustration, throwing the towel onto her bed. "Look, it's not a _thing,_ all right? I'd do it for you, too."

 

Raven immediately shakes her head, her ponytail whipping about her face. " _Please_ don't."

 

 

* * *

 

  

"Where's Raven?"

 

Clarke turns away from the fridge, a bottle of water in hand. "Call came in from work. She said to give her ten minutes, so I told the others to get a head start."

 

Bellamy sighs, pulling on a dark, chocolate brown sweater over another of his endless thin cotton T-shirts. "Okay, well, good, I guess. Because Jasper just rolled out of bed about two minutes ago."

 

She shakes her head around a swig of water, smiling with fond exasperation before offering the bottle to him. "Idiot. I still can't believe he bailed on his own idea."

 

"'Let's sleep under the stars, guys!'" Bellamy echoes once he's gulped down some water. "'It'll be fun, I promise!'"

 

"There weren't even _that_ many stars," she grumbles, plucking distractedly at the sleeve of her flannel. It's a weak rejoinder, if she's being honest. There were, objectively speaking, a perfectly decent number of stars out last night.

 

Bellamy shrugs, sliding the bottle back across the counter to her. "Yeah, but it was still _fun._ "

 

She raises a skeptical brow. "Really? Even though you almost froze to _death,_ in the violently raging, _twenty-degree_ waters?"

 

"It was more like _twelve_ degrees," Bellamy says loftily, waving a hand in a display of faux humility.

 

His grin fades quickly, and his hand drops to the counter.

 

"And, yeah," he says, his voice dropping even lower and rougher, his gaze heavy on hers. "Even then."

 

 

* * *

 

 

And that's how Raven and Jasper end up walking in on them making out furiously, Clarke pressed back against the edge of the counter, one leg already hitched up around Bellamy's waist, his hand curled under her thigh as he presses into her eagerly.

 

"Oh, God," Raven announces, clapping one hand over Jasper's shell-shocked eyes despite Bellamy and Clarke jumping apart instantly. "Oh, Jesus, Mary, _and_ Joseph. In front of the _kids,_ guys? _Really?_ "

 

"Before _breakfast,_ guys?" Jasper adds, from behind Raven's hand. " _Seriously?_ "

 

"I'm not switching to room with Jasper, by the way," Raven says, her hand still covering Jasper's eyes. "Feel free to love it up out on the beach all night long, though."

 

Clarke snickers through her blush, reaching out impulsively to wrap an arm around Bellamy's waist.

 

"Sounds good to me," she says, with an affectionate squeeze.

 

She grins at the feel of Bellamy's chest rumbling with laughter against her cheek.

 

His arm curls around her to pull her in tight, and her smile is impossibly wide.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come party [on tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com)!


End file.
